Damned If You Do
by Morgan72uk
Summary: With lives at risk the Director is forced to make a difficult decision. As she comes to terms with her choice her relationship with Gibbs begins to unravel, perhaps irrevocably. Jibbs
1. The Choice

Damned If You Do

Author: Morgan72uk

Rating: T

Summary: Faced with an impossible choice, the Director makes a decision that she and everyone else will have to live with. And that's when things really start to unravel.

Disclaimer: Don't own the characters, don't have any money - and I probably shouldn't be doing this.

**Part 1**

You could hear a pin drop in MTAC – which was quite a feat given that there were at least a dozen people in the room. Some were bent over terminals, checking data, receiving reports from all over the world. Others were in the room to offer assistance in a case that had caught up 2 teams and was now heading for a deadly conclusion. But whatever their reason for being there, no one was making any pretence about the fact that they were watching the drama unfold around the woman standing in front of the video screen.

McGee didn't know how Director Shepard was staying so calm and in control. She hadn't raised her voice, wasn't pacing or giving any indication that she was anxious. Instead she had kept track of every snippet of information, following the separate threads of the investigation, giving orders, making suggestions. Earlier she had been standing at his shoulder, offering quiet encouragement as he teased the technology at his disposal into co-operation.

Perhaps if he knew her better he'd be able to detect the strain he was sure she must be feeling. But of all the team, he was the one who knew her least. Gibbs had been her partner and, if you believed Tony, perhaps something more; Ducky kept his distance until he forgot and told stories about her exploits as an agent, Tony and Ziva both had their own connection with her and even Abby seemed to get under her skin at times.

He was very aware that he'd never really thought about her, except as an authority figure who sometimes had the ability to open doors that had remained stubbornly closed to other approaches. And suddenly it mattered a great deal that despite all of his knowledge, all the things he could use a computer to find the answer to, he had no idea what decision she would make – and what would inform that decision. It made him feel surprisingly powerless.

This lack of knowledge was of more than academic interest; because the Director of NCIS had two teams trapped in an underwater power station, with the clock ticking on its structural integrity. Of course, the teams weren't in the same part of the building and everything they knew to date indicated there would only be enough time to get one team out before the structure, weakened by several explosions, succumbed to the pressure from the water surrounding it and collapsed.

A specialist unit from the Coast Guard was on site – ready to attempt a rescue mission. The Commander was giving Shepard his recommendations now, but everyone knew that the final decision was hers and that decision, once made, would likely condemn some of her agents to death.

McGee knew should have been down there with Gibbs, Tony and Ziva – not sitting in the safety of MTAC trying to get a better pinpoint on their exact location within the ailing structure. He could hardly stand to think about what he would do if the decision was to send the rescue team to the others first, he wasn't ready to think about losing his family.

* * *

Director Shepard knew that everyone was watching her, waiting to see what she would do. But the only person she was interested in right now was the Lt. Commander on the other end of video link. The one telling her that she was going to have to make a choice about who lived and who died. 

"The route to Agent Gibbs' team is clearer – but they are slightly further away from the only viable entry point. Agent Ramsay's team is closer – but the damage in that area is more substantial. If we have to clear it to get to them I don't see how we'll reach the others. I don't recommend splitting my team – we need as many people as possible to clear the area and pull your agents out."

If she sent them to rescue Ramsay and his team first they might get them out but, if the assessment of the damage was accurate, they wouldn't get to Gibbs and his team before the area was flooded. On the other hand she could send them to rescue Jethro and the others first but the slightly longer time it took to reach them would make it far harder for them to get to Ramsay.

It was as close to a no win situation as she was ever likely to get and she was out of time; she had to make a decision.

"I want you to try to reach Agent Gibbs and his team first – if they are unharmed take them with you to try to get to the others. The extra hands might buy you some time."

"Yes Ma'am." It was a desperate gamble and an additional risk to both teams; but it was the only thing she could think of, the only way to try to get them both out. As Director of this agency there was no way she could countenance abandoning any of her people. But, she knew such a choice could yet result in the loss of both teams.

"I'd like a situation report as soon as you have one. Good luck."

And so began the longest thirty minutes of her life. There was nothing any of them could do – the only option was to wait and to hope. She knew how important it was that everyone in this room believed she was in control and that she had complete confidence that the rescue would be a success.

Her years undercover and in the field had exposed her to more than her fair share of dangers. She knew how to keep her head under pressure, how to use the adrenaline, not be overwhelmed by it. She'd run operations in perilous situations; risked her own life and other peoples, made difficult decisions when the situation demanded it and all her experience told her there was a gulf between taking the difficult decisions and living with the results of them.

But it was done now; she'd made her decision – set the rescue mission in motion. She would have to live with the choice she'd made – whatever the consequences. If she'd had more time, if they'd been able to gather more information; perhaps she might have chosen differently. She was entirely aware that she could easily have miscalculated and while this wasn't the time to second-guess herself, she knew that such a time would come.

She wanted to fidget, to pace – but she forced herself to sit in the chair she'd returned to and worked hard to give the impression of composure. She could see the tension radiating off McGee who was sitting in front of a desk of computers. He was probably thinking that he ought to have been there with Gibbs and the others. But without him here she would have had far less information to base her decision on; though perhaps that wasn't something he needed to know at this point. She knew she ought to say something to him, but the right words escaped her at this precise moment and saying the wrong thing would be far worse than silence. If he turned out to be the only team member who survived he was going to need more than a few words to get him through and he wouldn't be the only person devastated by the loss.

She knew first hand that Leroy Jethro Gibbs had a habit of pulling off miracles – now would be a very good time for him to demonstrate that ability.

For the last three hours, as this situation had unfolded she had been thinking of him as Agent Gibbs. Now, sitting in the almost dark, with no idea if he was alive or if her own order had resulted in his death, she was prepared to concede that the situation was more complicated than that. He was her best agent and a perpetual thorn in her side. He'd been her teacher, her mentor and her lover. And now – well, she wouldn't even attempt to define their relationship.

The history between them was complex and not as dead and buried as they both liked to pretend. She wasn't sure they would ever get to a point when they were comfortable with their past, when they could reminisce and be comfortable in doing so. There were times when they both forgot and simply relaxed; slipping into roles they had established years before, but those occasions were few and far between. And then there were the other moments, the ones when she was forced to confront the fact that she was not as immune to his pull as she liked to think.

She'd existed for 6 years without him and only in quiet moments, in some very out of the way places, had she thought about what she had left behind when she'd left him. Recent events had proved she could trust him to watch her back, even when she was involved in something he didn't agree with, even when he was mad as hell with her.

She could read him, most of the time, and probably knew him better than any other person in her life. But that didn't mean she could control what he did – or her reaction to it.

Whatever truths she preferred not to admit to, whatever tangled emotions lay between them, she couldn't imagine her life without him in it – and God; she didn't want to have to try.

There was a crackle on the other end of her head-set and the technician looking after the video feed didn't have to tell her that it had been activated. She pushed herself to her feet – determined that this was the kind of news that had to be received standing up.

TBC


	2. Taking Responsibility

A/N - thanks so much for all the reviews and special thanks to eflordsmistress for her advice and assistance. I did mention that this story was going to be angsty - didn't I?

**Part 2**

_There was a crackle on the other end of her head-set and the technician looking after the video feed didn't have to tell her that it had been activated. She pushed herself to her feet – determined that this was the kind of news that had to be received standing up._

"Commander?" She scrutinised his face, looking for a clue into the news he was about to impart. Her fingers curled into a fist, nails digging into her palm, using the pain to maintain her focus.

"Director – Agent Gibbs and his team are unharmed, a few cuts and bruises. But, I'm afraid we lost Agent Ramsay. The rest of his team are being treated now, but the medics think they'll be OK. And one of my men didn't make it out."

"Have you recovered the bodies?" Until they had the bodies there was always the chance that the men had survived. But she knew from his expression what his response was going to be to that.

"We're doing that now, we'll have a full report in an hour – maybe less. And we'll make sure Ramsay's body is sent back to you." There was a moment of silence and they watched each other across the video link, united by their losses. She could see the wary respect in his eyes and wasn't sure she deserved it.

"I'm sorry we couldn't get Ramsay out – it was a mess down there and he insisted we took his team first. We didn't have a chance to go back for him, without Gibbs and his people I'm not sure we would have got any of them out. For what it's worth ma'am, you made a good call." She wasn't ready to hear that and she certainly wasn't ready accept it, because actually it hadn't been good enough.

"Thank you for your help. My condolences on your loss." He nodded briefly in acknowledgement.

The link terminated and already she could feel the way the atmosphere in the room had changed. It wasn't a rescue mission any longer – instead it was a failure; a case which had cost two men their lives, one of them a colleague and a friend. The post-mortems would begin soon – but there were things she needed to attend to first.

"Find out which hospital they are taking the injured to and get some people there. I need Ramsay's next of kin and emergency contacts for the rest of the team." She took a breath and looked around the room, taking in the strain on the faces of her agents, meeting their eyes, trying to find a way to inspire their confidence. "The next few hours are going to be difficult, for all of us. But, let's make sure we do this right. We owe them that. " She waited a beat, seeing the bustle as her orders were followed and then turned to the one person who hadn't moved yet.

She placed her hand on his shoulder, "Tim, go down to Abby's lab and autopsy, let them know what's happened. I want Ducky to take care of Ramsay, when he gets here." He nodded and pushed himself out of his seat, his movements slow and stiff, as though he had aged years in the last few hours – he wasn't the only one.

As the room cleared she sank into the nearest seat and took a breath, then another. The prickle on the back of her neck told her the moment of solitude had been very brief. But she recognised this presence, trusted it with some of her secrets, "what is it Cynthia?"

Her assistant, wonderful woman that she was; handed her a file and a bottle of water. She knew, without looking, that the file was Ramsay's and that very soon she was going to have to open it. "I can keep everyone out for five minutes," she offered, proving all over again just how well she could anticipate her boss' needs.

"Sec Nav?"

"In ten," well that was a conversation she was looking forward to.

"I'll take it in my office, thank you Cynthia." She listened for the retreating footsteps and the sound of the door closing and this time, certain that she was alone, she slid her eyes shut – just for a moment. She counted to 60 slowly; controlling her breathing – the only thing she could control right now. It wasn't much, a single minute to herself in the midst of the maelstrom, but it would have to do. They'd lost an agent today; the Director couldn't afford to hide away in the dark.

* * *

McGee made sure he was in the bullpen when Gibbs and the others returned. He needed to be somehow, maybe because he wouldn't really be convinced that they were OK until he saw for himself. It wasn't exactly a fond reunion; Tony punched him on the shoulder, Ziva smiled and Gibbs pretty much ignored him. It was all the reassurance he needed. He looked them over carefully, noting the cuts and bruises they were sporting, the way Ziva was favouring her shoulder slightly – as though she'd used it to try and force open a door. 

He knew they had been checked out at the scene, that their injuries weren't serious. But still, fighting for their lives, with no way of knowing that rescue was on the way can't have been a pleasant experience. There had been far too many close calls lately – if he was superstitious, which of course he wasn't, he'd start to worry how many of their nine lives they had used up in the last few months. He shuddered – trying not to think about how this scene might have unfolded if the Director had made a different decision. It wasn't that Ramsay's death hadn't sobered him, it was just that he could see how much worse it could have been; how easily both teams could have been lost. He took in a quick breath and wondered all over again just where she had found the nerve to take the two options she'd been given and transform them into a third.

But then it happened, Gibbs was rifling through his desk and without looking up he said, "I need Ramsay's next of kin."

"Er boss,"

"Do you have the address McGee?"

"No but,"

"Then why are you talking to me?"

"The Director's gone to inform Ramsay's parents – she left about an hour ago." He was familiar enough with Gibbs' various moods to know that the information had not been received well.

"Damn it, she should have waited."

He almost let it go. There were times when he'd stand his ground against Gibbs, but this didn't have to be one of them. The Director could take care of herself; his intervention wouldn't make any difference.

He could tell how angry Gibbs was, understood that the source of the anger was the debt he felt he owed Ramsay. But it had been McGee who'd been in MTAC, witnessed the impossible choice the Director been forced to make and watched as she took on the burden of that decision. And right now he was the only one who had witnessed that, the only one able to defend her right to take responsibility for the consequences of her decision.

"It was her call," he said, wishing that he cut a more impressive or intimidating figure. "You weren't there."

"No probie," Tony chimed in, though McGee hadn't even looked over at him, "we were stuck underwater, waiting to drown."

"And why didn't you drown? Because when the Coast Guard said there wasn't time to get both teams out she had to make a choice. Ramsay's team was closer – but I guess you know how bad the damage was near where they were trapped. It was the Director's decision to send the rescue team to get you first, so you could help reach Ramsay." He met Gibbs' eyes – forcing the point home. "She made the call knowing that she might lose both teams and now she's taking responsibility for that." He knew that his outburst had stunned them into silence and actually he was as shocked at his behaviour as they were. "I'm going to see Abby, I think she'd like it if you checked in with her – she was very worried."

As he walked towards the elevator he heard Tony mutter, "someone's got his probie pants in a twist," a comment that wasn't worth dignifying with a response.

"Shut up DiNozzo." Gibbs intervention effectively ended the conversation but McGee could feel that stare burning into the back of his neck - making him wonder what he had done to deserve that level of scrutiny. Not for the first time he wished he had a better idea of what Gibbs was thinking.

* * *

Director Shepherd emerged from the house and, when she turned her head to see Gibbs leaning against his car she was glad that her instinctive reaction to the bright evening sunlight had been to put on her sunglasses. This was one of the times when she was prepared to take advantage of any additional protection she could get. His gaze was far too penetrating and the news she had just delivered had left her feeling just a little vulnerable. 

Ramsay's parents were military through and through. They'd been stoically accepting of what she'd come to tell them. Their other child, a daughter, was getting on a plane from California. They'd deal with the pain as a family, in private, and certainly not in front of a woman – even if she did call herself the Director of NCIS. She was sure they'd be much more comfortable dealing with Gibbs. But, it didn't matter that she could have sent Gibbs or someone like him – the important thing was that she hadn't.

"Jethro," the surge of relief she felt at seeing him standing before her, unharmed, was replaced almost at once by an equally strong surge of irritation at his silence. "I think they'd like to see you," she offered. But still he didn't move, or speak; just watched her for a long moment, wearing an expression that she couldn't read. Finally he moved past her towards the house – as though, despite the sunglasses, he had seen whatever he was looking for, or more, likely its absence.

He was going to go in there and do a far better job of offering support, because the Ramsay's would see him as one of their own; someone who'd been there – while she was just the woman who had made the decision that had resulted in their son's death. She couldn't afford to resent that preference; it was hardly the first time that she'd come across people who didn't understand how she could be the Director of NCIS. If Jethro could offer the Ramsay's even a moment of comfort, then she'd live with feeling useless in the face of their grief.

She bit her lip to stop herself from calling him back, from saying something that she would likely regret the moment after she'd said it. This wasn't the time or the place for a confrontation that she didn't think either of them would emerge from unscathed. She pushed away the whisper of resentment at his response to her – she wasn't his junior partner anymore, she didn't need him to tell her what he thought of her decision – it didn't matter what he thought. She didn't need the silent treatment from Leroy Jethro Gibbs to make her feel as though she had failed.

TBC


	3. The End of the Day

A/N - hi, thanks for the reviews. I should probably point out that though this fic is set in season 5 - vaguely, and that Col. Mann has not left.

**Part 3**

When you lose an agent in an operation that also results in the death of a coast guard officer you can pretty much write off the day – and the rest of the week. Cynthia had re-worked her schedule and, after her visit to the Ramsay's, the Director had gone to the hospital where the remaining members of his team were recovering from their injuries. They were still reeling from the loss of their leader and she knew how important it was that they felt the agency was with them through this – and she was the face of the agency.

After her return had come a second conversation with Sec Nav, a long meeting with the press office and by the time that had finished, the reports from Gibbs and the others about what had happened down there had been sent up to her. Even though the events were described in stark, factual terms - they made difficult reading. There was more than enough information to enable her to imagine both teams struggling to free themselves and their growing frustration as they realised that escape was likely to be impossible.

She hadn't been surprised at the anger she'd seen lurking in Jethro's eyes in that moment outside the Ramsay's house. He'd hate that a case had led to this; his team exposed to danger, another agent dead. She had no idea if he knew about the choice she'd had to make when it came to the rescue – it would probably be easier if he never found out.

Reading the reports took the rest of her reserves and by the time she set them aside the tension headache that had been with her for hours had spread to encompass her whole body. Still, she knew she was a long way from being able to go home and get some sleep.

But with the crisis over there was no need for everyone else to burn the midnight oil, so she set about sending people home. Cynthia had argued, intent on sticking it out with her, only conceding when Jen had pointed out that perhaps one of them ought to be alert and well rested in the morning. The loyalty and protectiveness of her assistant was normally a comfort, but just at the moment it wasn't comfort that she needed.

The other teams she spoke to left quietly, leaving their desks and retreating into the darkness. She hated the building when it was like this – when they'd lost an agent, or failed to solve a case. There wasn't even a perpetrator to track down, with the suspects already in custody there would be no obsessive hunts for the guilty party to take their minds off what had been lost. Perhaps she ought to be grateful for that – although she couldn't help but wonder where all that anger and guilt would go now?

Finally, perfectly aware that she had been avoiding them for some hours, she turned her attention to Gibbs and his team. She watched them from the floor above – noting that they seemed uncharacteristically subdued. She knew that she ought to go down there and send them home as well. But, she was reluctant to face them – to face him. As she watched Jethro seemed to notice the strain on their faces and decide for himself that, for today at least, enough was enough.

She lingered as they packed away – not sure why she was still standing watching, when there were so many other matters demanding her attention. Ziva and McGee departed together, while Tony hung around, trying to find some of his usual exuberance – but the effort proved too much and when he left, his head was down. It was, she realised, a long way from being business as usual.

When Gibbs was finally alone she almost moved, almost persuaded herself to go down and speak to him – even if she wasn't quite sure what to say. He wouldn't talk, just as she wouldn't and their silences were unpredictable, even dangerous at times. But as she took a step towards the staircase a movement from the shadows arrested her progress.

Hollis Mann walked quietly towards Jethro; they talked for a few moments and then he collected his belongings, slipped an arm around her shoulders and they ambled slowly towards the lift.

It didn't matter, Jen told herself sternly as they departed together, right now she needed him at the top of his game and she'd take that however she could get it. She returned to her office, having seen everything she needed to, except the moment he turned to look over his shoulder.

* * *

Gibbs wasn't in much of a mood for company and he should have realised that before he let Hollis persuade him to come home with her. But, at the time it had seemed easier and infinitely safer. As DiNozzo had left it had only been her arrival that had prevented him from going upstairs to where he knew Jen was. Which went some way to explain why he was sitting at Hollis' kitchen table thinking far too much about another woman. 

He'd be much better off on his own tonight, or perhaps with different company. When he closed his eyes he could see Jen's face, caught in profile, half in the shadows. He'd known she was talking to the other teams, quietly standing down as many of them as she could and he was grateful that she left it up to him to send his own team home. But he was surprised that she'd stayed out of their way – it wasn't like her to avoid a confrontation, to avoid him.

He thought about the moment when she'd emerged from the Ramsay's; he'd been angry with her for breaking the news to them when he felt he owed it to their son to complete the task himself. He'd made a silent promise to the man they'd had to leave behind that he would make sure his team was looked after, make sure that people knew he had acted as a leader should – as Gibbs hoped he would if it ever came to that.

He'd been starting to think that they weren't going to make it out this time and even now he was beating himself up for getting his team into that position and for having to depend on someone else to get them out. He was reeling from Ramsay's death – though he respected the man for putting the safety of his team first.

He wondered if Jen had heard that McGee had told them what happened in MTAC, if she even cared that they knew. He'd pulled the tapes, not because he didn't believe McGee's account, but because he'd needed to see for himself. The choice she'd made was the only possible option to save all of her agents and it had so nearly paid off for her. But still it surprised him that she'd taken such a risk. She'd say it went with her job and she'd be right. But he knew that if circumstances had forced her to call it another way, with different consequences, then she would have.

What a damn mess. He was safe, warm, sitting here with a woman he cared about; he ought to be embracing life. But instead a different woman, the one who had saved his life, preoccupied him. He found himself thinking about where she was now; still in her office, or in the dark of MTAC? Was she plagued by doubts, by all those alternative scenarios? Or was she refusing to allow herself to dwell on the choice she had made and what she might have done differently?

He had no doubt that there would be a man somewhere, kept safely on the periphery of her life where he couldn't distract her. He didn't discount the possibility that she would seek comfort tonight with someone who knew what she liked, without knowing her too well.

But it wouldn't be enough. He knew her, although sometimes he regretted that knowledge. He knew what it would take to chase away Jen's demons tonight – because it was the same thing that he needed to chase away his.

For all her strengths, for all the things she did understand Hollis couldn't give him that. Which was why he couldn't stay.

TBC


	4. Darkness Falls

A/N - I freely admit that my nerve almost failed me in posting this part - even though it is a fairly defining moment in the story. So, anyway - thank you for the reviews, sorry if it's not what you were expecting. If you don't like reading this - please consider that I did give it an M rating for a reason.

**Part 4**

He should have gone home; should have tried to lose himself in his boat and, if that didn't provide enough of a distraction then there were a myriad of other remedies for his too active mind. But, as much as he didn't want to admit it, there was only one remedy for what ailed him tonight. And knowing that he should have made sure he stayed away. But of course he didn't.

He pulled up outside the large house hidden from the road behind walls and hedges and asked himself, as he often did, how Jen could stand to live here. It wasn't that the house didn't suit her; it's size, the dark wood and warm furnishings were entirely in keeping with her identity as Director of NCIS. But there was so much history in the building, so many unhappy memories – all of that weight on her shoulders. He understood that the history and the memories drove her, it was why she wouldn't stop – ever, why her enemies and some of her friends, described her as relentless. But he wondered how she got the chance to breathe, to escape from the burdens.

"Jethro," she opened the door to him, glass of bourbon in hand. She was still wearing her suit and it was clear that she hadn't been home for long. At the back of his mind he'd been hoping that she'd save him from this by having someone with her, or by not being here. Clearly he was going to have to save himself – if that was really what he wanted. "Drink?"

"Sure," he reached over and took the glass out of her hand, swallowing the remainder of the liquid, before handing it back to her.

"I wasn't offering to share," he followed her into the study, watching as she poured herself another drink – and one for him. "What are you doing here? I thought you'd gone home with Colonel Mann?"

"Keeping me under surveillance?" It was his first dig and she didn't even blink; instead she shot him a look that he interpreted as, 'don't flatter yourself,' though the question she opted for was,

"Is the team all right?"

"They will be. It was a close call, they're dealing with it in their own ways." He hoped he was right, that Tony and Ziva, who had been there with him and McGee, the spectator, would find ways to deal with what had happened. He didn't think any of them would forget this day easily – and the day wasn't over yet.

"And is that what you're doing?"

He shrugged, knowing that he should leave now, before things got too complicated. But as he put his glass down, intending to make his excuses and leave she asked, "did you know Ramsay was seeing someone?"

"Didn't know him that well."

"His team knew. She's a waitress at a diner near where he lived, working her way through law school. Somehow I don't think he'd introduced her to his family." He didn't need to ask if she'd been the one to tell this woman that Ramsay was dead; it was written all over her face. And she was probably right about his family – they hadn't mentioned anything about a girlfriend when he'd spoken with them.

"She OK?"

"No," just for a moment her expression was distant, all too evidently reliving what he knew must have been a difficult conversation. "I don't think she realised how dangerous his job was – she wasn't prepared at all." In as little time as it took to blink the vulnerability was gone. She looked tired, a little strained, but everything else was locked away. It was ungenerous of him to want to provoke her – but that was what he'd come for.

"You knew there would be days like this, they go with the title – and the office with the nice view."

"I'm not asking you to feel sorry for me."

"I don't." She finished her drink in a single swallow, eyes flashing with a fire he recognised as anger. It was the way she looked, the way his body responded that made him accept, finally, what it was he needed tonight. Briefly he spared a thought for his team, hoping that whatever they did to come to terms with the events of the day they didn't follow his example.

As she turned to pour herself a refill, he took a step towards her and trailed his hand along her spine. "What are you doing?" She stilled as soon as he touched her and he moved his hand down her arm to remove the glass from her grasp.

"If you have to ask." His hand circled her wrist, thumb stroking over the sensitive skin; so close to her now that he could hear the intake of breath she tried to stifle.

"Get your hand off me." She ground the words out – but instead of obeying her demand, he let that errant hand fall to her hip, caressing it. He could feel the heat of her skin beneath his fingertips – as though the cloth was not there, as though there was nothing between them. If she'd moved away, or slapped him that would have been where it ended; but she didn't move.

His other hand plucked open the buttons of the shirt she wore, fingers trailing over her ribs, skirting the outside of her breast. God, he hadn't realised how much he'd missed this, the way her body felt, the seduction of her. She went to his head like good bourbon. "You still like this?" he asked, his lips finding a place behind her ear as the hand that had been teasing her finally cupped her breast. The sound she made at the back of her throat gave him the answer she'd likely never admit aloud.

"You bastard!" she turned to face him and his hands fell away. He could see her fury but it was almost overwhelmed by her need; another of the things she'd probably never admit. Her gaze was hungry as it raked his body and he felt himself tighten in response. "I should send you away like that, send you back to her."

He opened his mouth to tell her that Hollis was the last thing he wanted to discuss right now. But she didn't give him chance, stepping into him her lips crashed into his - destroying his ability to think straight. If he'd been playing games she would have effectively called his bluff. But he wasn't interested in games; right now he needed her as much as he needed his next breath – maybe more.

It was fast and furious – all the frustration and fear of the day, all of the things they hadn't said to each other spilling over to culminate in this – frantic, heated, urgent sex. When he plunged into her she wasn't ready and her cry was part pain, part exultation – but neither of them cared. He didn't even think about the fact that they were against the wall in her study. All he cared about what her tightness, her heat, the encouragement she breathed into his ear and the way their bodies still fit together after all of this time.

He bit her shoulder, she scratched his back – the pain only adding to the heat between them. He gritted his teeth when she came – though her back arched and her body tightened around his and the urge to surrender to her was almost overwhelming.

But he fought back, riding out her release and slamming into her harder, fingers gripping her hips; knowing he'd leave bruises and not caring. Words spilled haphazardly from him, a jumbled mixture of anger and passion; as though he could mark her as easily with his words as he marked her with his hands and his lips.

He wasn't sure when it changed, when it was no longer about having her – or perhaps it had never just been about that. Maybe it was seeing her – eyes closed, pale skin flushed and knowing she was biting her bottom lip to stop herself from gasping his name. Or maybe it was when he realised that this could be, probably would be, the last time he'd see her this way. He didn't want to remember that this had been fuelled by anger. The passion and lust he could live with, but when they could do this to each other, it wasn't because of anger.

"Look at me," he demanded – slightly surprised when she complied. He knew his expression was as open as it ever was, didn't know if she realised how rare it was for him to feel safe enough to let his control slip. She was beautiful like this – his breath caught at the realisation and then they were both there.

* * *

Jen winced as he slid from her, the gush of their fluids a reminder that they hadn't given a thought to safe sex. The contraception was taken care of – but that wasn't really the point, the point was she'd temporarily lost her mind. 

She unwrapped her legs from his waist, refusing to meet his eyes and hoping to hell she was going to be able to stand up on her own. Oh god, what had she done?

She pushed herself away from him, conscious of her nudity, of his. This was a disaster. She moved gingerly, muscles protesting even as her heart still pounded wildly. She found the bourbon he'd scarcely touched and swallowed it, relishing the way it burned her throat.

"Jen," she didn't turn around, couldn't look at him.

"This didn't happen," she said savagely, "you came by, had a drink and then left." She glanced over at him and then wished she hadn't. "Get dressed Jethro; go home and stay the hell away from me."

He didn't say anything in response – she kept her back to him as he dressed and only when she heard the sound of his footsteps and the front door opening and closing, did she move. Her clothes were scattered across the room and she pulled on her shirt and some underwear – bundling the rest together, glad there was no one else in the house.

She didn't break down until she was in the shower – and then her legs buckled and she sat on the floor of the cubicle, gazing ahead of her with unseeing eyes as the hot water washed away the evidence of what they'd done.

She hadn't thought – she'd just given herself to him, her body responding to his as though the eight years since they'd last been lovers had never happened. She didn't know what it meant that he'd come to her instead of Hollis, whether there was something wrong between them, or if the vicarious scent of her doubts had drawn him to her – to gloat at her weaknesses, expose her failings. And she'd let him.

He'd bruised her and she'd wanted that, had craved it from the moment he'd placed his hand on her. It was the reason she hadn't stopped him – well, part of the reason. She wasn't going to deny that she'd wanted him, but just as much she'd wanted him to mark her. The day, the decision, had scarred her after all.

TBC


	5. Watching

A/N - thanks for the reviews, especially all the nice things you said about part 4.

**part 5**

Dr Mallard stood at the edge of the cemetery his expression watchful; the funeral was over, people were starting to disperse – though the family remained at the graveside. Ramsay's father, stoic and sombre, stood alongside his wife who was clutching the flag that had covered their son's casket.

His gaze found his colleagues; he wished he could say they were coping with what had happened; but the truth was they were still reeling from the consequences of the case. Ramsay's people were back at their desks, though they remained off active duty. On the surface Gibbs' team were back to normal, already up to their necks in another case, but he knew them far too well to be convinced. Tony and Ziva bickered constantly, persuading anyone with any sense to give them a wide berth. As for young Timothy, well, he had become obsessed with the decision the Director had been forced to take; even going as far as asking Abby to review the evidence – a challenging brief since much of it remained under water. He was seeking a certainty that the woman who'd made the decision didn't seem to require, or so she'd like everyone to believe.

His old friend Jethro had been quiet over the last few days – although his anger simmered under the surface. Ducky wasn't sure exactly what he was angry about – although he could probably hazard a guess. It surely wasn't a coincidence that the Director had been keeping her distance, was doing so even now - as they stood around the grave of their fallen comrade.

During the funeral she'd spoken with quiet dignity, before stepping aside in favour of the longest serving member of Ramsay's team. The man had clearly found it difficult to speak of his former leader – and Shepard had remained by his side, lending him some of her strength when he faltered. Ducky didn't think he'd ever been more impressed by her than in that moment.

As everyone had focussed their attention on the grieving family she had stayed close to the young woman that they now knew Ramsay had been involved with. The girl seemed grateful for the support; she'd arrived alone and seemed dazed and utterly out of her depth. Ramsay's family had apparently had no idea of her existence – and from their body language he could tell they weren't sure what to make of her short spiky hair, the stone in her nose or the tattoo that curved around her wrist.

The Director of NCIS seemed to be holding a lot of people together at the moment and Ducky couldn't help but wonder who was taking care of her – even though he thought he knew the answer.

It couldn't be helping that she and Gibbs were at odds. That wasn't necessarily anything new, they'd certainly had their share of fights over the years, but not like this. This time the atmosphere between them was as cold as ice – when they weren't making every effort to avoid each other entirely. He didn't understand exactly what had caused the rift, though the timing suggested it had something to do with Ramsay's death and the agonising decision Shepard had been forced to take. Jethro wasn't talking about it – to anyone, and it wasn't clear if he thought she'd made the right choice or not.

Ducky sighed; knowing he was unlikely to get to the bottom of a relationship that had been mercurial from the second they had met.

Gibbs wasn't the only one who had been angry with her. Once upon a time Ducky had been her friend as well; though his loyalty to Gibbs had surpassed that friendship. He was realistic enough to know that he had blamed her for what her departure had done and as a consequence he'd kept his distance from her since she'd returned.

It had taken his discovery that Jethro had kept a huge secret, a family neither of them had known about, to make him consider that he might have been misjudged her. He'd always assumed that she'd left to further her career, allowed her ambition to guide her choices. But, finding out that she hadn't known about Shannon and Kelley made him question how close her relationship with Gibbs had really been and he suspected he wasn't the only one asking that question. If she'd sensed some barrier between them; been aware, even sub-consciously, that he was holding something back and factored that into her decision, then Ducky wasn't sure who to blame for what had gone wrong. He couldn't even say for certain that she'd made a mistake.

As Ducky watched, Jen led Ramsay's girlfriend over towards his family and Gibbs quietly moved to her side, offering support as she made the introductions. They might not have been getting along particularly well, but clearly they hadn't lost the ability to work as a team.

He wasn't surprised to see that it was Jethro who received a warm welcome from the Ramsay's. Their reaction to the woman their son had been involved with was clearly one of polite bewilderment and even from this distance he could sense both the coolness of Ramsay's parents towards the Director of NCIS and the hostility in his sister's body language. Jenny was far too diplomatic to give any indication that she'd noticed their response, instead she quietly retreated from the group, leaving Gibbs to try to persuade the grieving family to accept a stranger into their midst.

Ducky toyed with the idea of quietly informing them that it was the woman they were treating like some bureaucratic functionary who had arranged for the honour their son had been posthumously awarded. But dismissed the idea – remembering that their son had just died and there were very few appropriate ways of behaving in the face of such a loss.

He'd been so absorbed by the scene that he hadn't noticed that he was no longer alone. "I don't like this Ducky," Abby said, as she leaned her head on his shoulder. "The Director and Gibbs are mad with each other, Tony and Ziva squabble all the time and even McGee's gone all hinky."

Sometimes he forgot how young she was, how sensitive, how much she hated discord. Her eyes looked at him now; begging for reassurance that he wasn't at all certain he could give. "When will things get back to normal?" He couldn't answer that and instead they both watched as McGee approached Jen, spoke briefly to her, managing to draw a small, genuine smile from her, one that faded at once when Gibbs passed; summoning McGee away with a single word. "Have you seen them like this before?" Abby whispered, her question taking him back years, to a different time and place.

They'd been well matched then – still were; which of course was at least part of the problem. Because it was far more likely that, he stopped, realisation dawning abruptly. The unwelcome suspicion confirmed when he thought back over the discord, the distance, their body language.

"No," he told Abby, "I've never seem them like this." He patted her hand absently – trying to give a modicum of comfort because, if he was right, things wouldn't be getting back to normal any time soon.

"Director, were you planning to go back to the Ramsay's?" he asked quietly as he approached her. She'd looked worryingly isolated in the second before he reached her side, though in less time than it took to blink her professional mask was firmly back in place.

"I don't think I'm particularly welcome; the Ramsay's are discovering that they didn't know their son very well. I hadn't realised how opposed they were to him joining us when he left the Navy – and now they've found out about Fleur." She shrugged, lips almost quirking into a smile "and I used to complain that my name was boring." He could see her point, the young woman didn't look much like a Fleur. But he was relieved to find her capable of finding a moment of humour.

"In that case, perhaps you'd like to join me for an early dinner?" He threaded her arm through his and led her gently away. But she knew him too well.

"Are you feeling sorry for me Ducky?"

"Certainly not, I am however ensuring that you eat something before your inevitable return to your desk. You'd actually be doing me a favour, Mother is watching the wrestling this evening and I'd be grateful for an excuse not to join her. I happen to know there is very good Italian restaurant not too far away from here." He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, knowing she was trying to find a polite way to refuse. "The desserts are sinful."

"You do know my weaknesses Dr Mallard." There were shadows in her eyes, just for a moment and he didn't think that either of them was talking about desserts anymore.

"Indeed I do my dear."

TBC


	6. Too Close for Comfort

A/N - thanks for the reviews, especially to those people who liked the Ducky musings. He has a few moments in this part - but clearly it's time Jen and Jethro were in a confined space together...

**Part 6**

The new case was complicated – but as he sat at his desk in the dark, Gibbs was prepared to concede that it wasn't exactly holding all of his attention. He had other more pressing concerns, like the Director's absence. She was still in the building, or so he was informed, but she was keeping her distance from his team - from him. He was actively contemplating finding a way to piss off another agency – just to see if she would break her isolation to yell at him. He almost smiled; Jen was inventive, he had no doubt she'd find a way to convey her displeasure without their being in the same room.

Maybe it wouldn't have mattered that she was suddenly so remote if she hadn't been so hands on before. The agency had become accustomed to a Director with recent experience of investigative and undercover work, one who was more than capable of running her own operations. He would never admit it, but he was used to having her to exchange ideas with; he'd even become used to her meddling in his investigations. So, when she suddenly wasn't stalking the corridors, or down in Abby's lab, wasn't anywhere in fact it felt different; wrong.

He could have forced his way in to see her; though Cynthia was repelling almost everyone she wouldn't have been able to keep him out. But he hadn't made the attempt, because he wasn't sure what to say, because he was trying to decide if he was more angry with her, or with himself.

"Do you want to talk about it?" A quiet, familiar voice asked as Ducky pulled up a chair and sat down.

"Talk about what Ducks?"

"Oh I think you know." When he didn't respond Ducky sighed and Gibbs found himself wishing that his old friend didn't know him quite so well or else was less skilled at reading his silences. "I do hope you haven't done anything unwise Jethro."

"You know me better than that,"

"As it happens, I'm not sure that I do. The last time…"

"This is nothing like last time." He winced, wishing he didn't sound so angry or that Ducky hadn't been able to work out what this was about, who this was about.

"Given your history that doesn't fill me with as much reassurance as it ought to." When it was apparent that he wasn't going to get an answer to that Ducky said, "Is this about Ramsay – do you think she made the wrong decision?"

"It doesn't matter what I think about the decision, she was the one who had to make it."

A sound behind them made them both look up and Gibbs realised that the woman in question was crossing the bullpen on her way to the elevator. He couldn't tell if she was close enough to overhear their conversation. Though from the expression on her face it was clear that she hadn't been expecting anyone else to be here.

She must have changed, even if she had been out of sight all day there was no way she had come to work wearing that dress. It was dark and silky and cut low enough at the front to make his mouth suddenly very dry. She looked casual and sexy and, though it was none of his business, he couldn't help but wonder who she was looking that way for.

"Director," Ducky said, shooting him a glance when he continued to watch her in silence.

"Dr Mallard, Gibbs," she looked as though she couldn't get away fast enough. "Well, goodnight."

"I need to talk to you." Gibbs would like to say that this was prompted by a need to resolve things; despite having spent the last few days pretending that he and Jen had nothing at all to discuss. But his motives weren't that pure and his sudden desire to talk to her had a great deal to do with how she looked in that dress.

There was a flash of uncertainty in her eyes – but then she nodded her assent and followed him into the elevator. When he hit the pause button she raised an eyebrow and asked, "what can I do for you?"

"You going to keep this up for much longer Jen? People are starting to notice?"

"Starting to notice what?" Her voice was cool, her gaze unflinching – she wasn't going to give an inch, but then neither was he.

"You're absence."

"Are you suggesting that I'm not doing my job, Agent Gibbs?" Well, trust her to skip straight to the weak part of his argument. There was no evidence that the agency was suffering. He couldn't even accuse her of neglecting her responsibilities since he knew that she was spending time with the surviving members of Ramsay's team, giving them the support they needed.

"I'm suggesting, Director, that you shouldn't let something that happened in private, a moment of weakness, have an impact on the smooth running of this agency."

"A moment of weakness; is that what we're calling it now?" There was scorn in her voice, along with fire in her eyes. "I'm responsible for the smooth-running of this agency and I've yet to see any evidence of it being in any way compromised." She reached across him and flicked the switch bringing the elevator back to life. "I think we're done here."

But they weren't, not by a long stretch. He hit the pause button again and when she reached for it, instinctively grabbed her wrist to stop her. They both froze at the contact – the first since that night. He could feel the way her pulse was racing beneath his fingertips and he knew that he ought to let her go, but when she moistened her lips that idea went out of his head and instead he tugged her gently towards him.

"Don't," she breathed, although the hand she brought up to his shoulder to push him away curled into the fabric of his shirt.

"I thought you wanted me to stay away from you," he said, his mouth barely brushing against her cheek.

"Shut up." He was going to remember that she was the one to initiate the kiss, just as he knew he would remember that the edge of anger between them quickly burnt away to be replaced by warmth and passion. Her arms wrapped around him, drawing him closer and his fingers tangled in her hair before slipping into the front of her dress, to explore the cleavage that he'd been so tantalised by earlier. The dress was as soft and silky as it looked – but it really couldn't compare to her skin.

* * *

"Stop!" She wrenched herself out of his grasp and pushed herself as far away from him as possible in the confined space, desperately smoothing her hair and dress, trying to brush away the evidence of their encounter. She wasn't supposed to lose control like this. She shut her eyes, trying to push the image away, though it was seared onto her brain. "What the hell do you think you are doing?" She demanded, despite knowing the fault was equally hers. 

"You kissed me," he pointed out, looking smug and not particularly repentant. She had to fight down the urge to smack the expression off his face.

"This didn't happen,"

"So you keep saying. You need to make up your mind Director." She pulled the emergency stop button and this time he didn't intervene, letting the elevator start heading down. "Is this about Ramsay? About having to make that decision?" His voice was softer this time – but she didn't want that, didn't want him curious about her, asking questions she didn't have answers to.

"Of course it is." The elevator stopped and she stepped out, with him on her heels. "I did my job Jethro – and still two men died. I wasn't wrong, but I wasn't right either."

He'd coped by coming to her, by using anger and passion to assuage the loss and the survivor guilt – and she'd let him, because that's what she'd needed as well. But now as a consequence, everything between them was in turmoil; long suppressed emotions bubbling to the surface. She'd slammed this door shut eight years ago and she'd never really believed you could go back. But set against that there was the way he made her feel, the shadows and darkness, the whisper in her mind that said he was the only place she could afford to lose herself. She hadn't expected that to be so persuasive.

She stopped walking and turned back to him; seeing the vestiges of anger that lingered in his eyes. She could tell he wasn't sure whether or not to push her and she couldn't risk her suddenly fragile defences against him again so soon. Anger was easier; always easier and they were both guilty of taking refuge in it.

"Jethro?" as she watched his expression changed, the shutters coming down at the sound of Hollis Mann's voice. He took a step back – putting some space between them, while Jen concentrated on making sure her expression didn't betray the fact that their discussion had been intense and personal, or reveal that mere moments before she'd kissed him as though her life depended on it. "Director Shepard."

The look she got from Mann – all curiosity and concern made her think that she hadn't been entirely successful in hiding some of those inconvenient emotions. But Hollis' interpretation of the mood between them was Jethro's problem. "Colonel Mann," she returned levelly.

"Is everything all right?"

Jethro shrugged and though he was talking to Hollis his gaze didn't shift, piercing her with an intensity that left her certain that she had made him angry again. "The Director doesn't agree with my approach on our latest case – apparently I've been causing ripples higher up the food chain. I was just reminding her that it was her job to smooth over ripples."

"And I was just telling Gibbs that unfortunately I've not yet been granted the ability to perform miracles."

It was a little alarming how easily they lied; she could see Hollis relax – convinced by their fiction, by their antagonism; but it made her feel queasy. Suddenly, all she wanted to do was to get away from this mess. She checked her watch, relieved that she had somewhere else to go, a place where she could pretend. "I'm late, this discussion can wait until the morning."

"Big date?" Hollis asked, smiling and nodding towards her dress.

"Actually, yes." She managed a smile in return, before bidding them goodnight.

She didn't look back as she walked away, but it was quiet and Hollis' voice carried further than perhaps she had intended it to as she asked her companion, "do you know who she's seeing?"

Jen picked up her pace, grateful that she had reached the safety of her car before hearing his response.

TBC


	7. Headline News

A/N - so, as ever thanks for the reviews. It's great that people are following this story and I hope you'll forgive me for throwing in one more twist!

**Part 7**

DiNozzo looked across the bullpen and asked Ziva, "where's McGee?" It was still early, their resident geek was by no means late. But experience had taught them that, without a good excuse, it wasn't prudent to get here after Gibbs.

The boss hadn't arrived yet, but that could change at any moment and Tony was keen to avoid starting the day on the wrong foot. Gibbs' temper had been uncertain of late; since their close encounter with death by drowning in fact.

It wasn't just Gibbs, two days after the funeral and the atmosphere within the agency remained subdued. They were all struggling to put Ramsay's death behind them and no one was finding it easy. It reminded him of another time, another death – one he wasn't sure they were past, even now.

He knew the Director had spent the previous day at the funeral of the coast guard officer who'd been swept away during their rescue. He'd been in the bullpen when she'd returned, looking pale and a little upset. She'd spoken to a couple of other teams but stayed well away from them, before retreating to her office. Tony would have bet good money that the boss would have followed her upstairs, he'd certainly been following her every move. But to his disbelief Gibbs had remained at his desk and snapped at him to get back to work when he'd caught sight of him watching.

"He will be here," Ziva responded and as if to prove her point the elevator doors opened and McGee raced out.

"Have you seen this?" he asked as soon as he was within sight of his colleagues. As he spoke he waved a copy of what looked like that mornings Post at them.

"Thanks probie, but I have reading material of my own." Tony held up his magazine, complete with a scantily clad movie star on the front cover. McGee, he noticed, was unimpressed.

"This beats Babes in Space the sequel, Tony." That was heresy, he couldn't let it pass.

"Says the Star Wars geek."

"Believe me, you're both going to want to see this." He opened the paper and first Ziva and then Tony crossed to look over his shoulder at the article he was pointing to.

"A new type of warfare?" Ziva read the headline, her voice laced with scepticism, "as he approaches retirement is General Jack Sutherland about to embark on a different type of mission?" She looked over at McGee, "this is gossip, what's so important?"

But Tony hadn't bothered with the text, he'd directed his attention towards the photographs supporting the article, photographs that had clearly been taken from a distance, the couple featured in them apparently unaware of the intrusion. He saw straight away what McGee was flapping about and realised with a sinking heart that things were just about to get a lot more complicated.

"Look," as he pointed he heard Ziva's soft gasp and knew she'd realised what he was looking at. And there was no arguing with McGee's urgency anymore – because the woman pictured with Sutherland was undoubtedly the Director of NCIS.

They were outdoors; walking what he assumed was Sutherland's dog. In one shot they were sitting together on a bench, deep in conversation and the General was touching her cheek. They looked close, intimate even.

He skimmed the rest of the article – Sutherland's biography wasn't exactly a secret. The General had seen action in central America in the 1980's, and then in Iraq, Somalia, Bosnia, Afghanistan and until a year ago he had been in Iraq once more. He had a reputation for bravery and for impatience with politicians that sometimes led to him speaking his mind a little too bluntly. Since his retirement had been announced the media had been speculating it was that reputation which had led to him being passed over for a spot advising the President. He was smart, tough, respected by the men and women he commanded. And in the photographs he was gazing at Jenny Shepard with unreserved affection; something the article took great delight in speculating about.

"What do you think?" he asked Ziva, who, after all had worked with the woman concerned.

"I think our Director has a, consistent, taste in men." She nodded towards the paper and Tony mentally ticked off the points; older than her, military background, intelligent, commanding. He knew that all three of them were thinking about another man who fit the pattern and wondering – not for the first time – just how close they'd got when they were partners.

"Do you think he knows?" McGee ventured at last, breaking the silence.

"Knows what McGee?" They all jumped a mile as Gibbs rounded the corner, coffee cup in hand.

"Er, well boss." Tony retreated to his desk, having taken a tactical decision to leave the probie to deal with this. "There's an article in the Post about the Director and we were wondering if you'd seen it?"

"No," Gibbs replied, sitting at his desk, apparently not even remotely curious. "Do I have to tell you to get back to work?" They all scrambled to make it look as though they were busy – though Tony glanced over at Gibbs and winced at his expression. He'd never accuse the boss of lying – but he wasn't convinced that his lack of concern was entirely genuine.

* * *

Jenny Shepard didn't have the luxury of not being concerned. As she strode through the restaurant that morning she was perfectly aware of the glances following her progress, the whispered conversations that started in her wake. She wasn't going to give the slightest indication that she'd noticed – but inwardly she was seething. 

The object of her ire was having a late breakfast and he, at least, had the grace to appear moderately abashed as she dropped into the spare seat at the table. The junior Pentagon official he was going through his morning correspondence with looked as though he wished he were somewhere else, making her wonder briefly just how serious her reputation for having a temper was.

"I didn't set it up, I promise." At least he had the sense not to pretend to know what she was irritated about and actually she hadn't thought for a singe moment that he had orchestrated the article; well, maybe only for a single moment. He wasn't a politician and his attitude to the press was less than tolerant at best. His imminent retirement seemed to have mellowed him in this respect, if his response to this intrusion was anything to go by.

"I can see how distressed you are."

"How can I be?" He leant over and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek; "we can be seen together in public now." It was annoying just how cheerful he sounded, but she supposed from his point of view this wasn't a terrible thing. She wasn't sure how terrible a thing it was from her point of view either. Professionally she'd survive - he was retiring; there wasn't a conflict of interest. But she'd been the one keeping things between them casual; until now. She'd been the one to change that as well; which served her right for using him as a refuge.

"This isn't funny Jack."

"You need some coffee." She didn't debate the point and helped herself to some of his while he finished with his colleague. She plucked the Post from beside his plate; noting that it was already open at the article about them. She scanned it again, looking for some part of it that wasn't annoying – unsurprisingly she didn't find anything.

"It says here that we met 6 months ago and that you've been ardently pursuing me ever since." Before he replied he gestured to the doorway and the aide took the hint, gratefully Jen thought, and made himself scarce.

"That's more or less true," he responded, "though the chronology is a little off." He leaned over her shoulder, finding a different part of the article, "I like it where they describe you as sexy and fiery."

"Yes, I'm sure Sec Nav enjoyed reading that about me over his morning coffee." He sighed, looking sympathetic.

"It's OK Jenny."

"It's not." His fingers traced her cheek, tilting her face so that their eyes met. His hazel eyes warm and filled with affection that she was not sure she deserved. All very different from another, far more piercing gaze.

She stabbed the thought away, regretting her weakness at once. She didn't even want to think about how Jethro was going to react to the article. She remembered his anger and coldness and told herself that what she did with her life was none of his business. He was seeing Hollis and whatever that night had been about she was very sure it had little to do with warmth or affection.

"This isn't how I wanted people to find out. I lost an Agent a week ago in a high risk operation, my personal life isn't even close to being important compared to that – and responding to this," she flicked the paper angrily, "is going to be a distraction I don't need."

"You'll handle it," she thought about Gibbs again, about the whole edifice of their relationship which, even now, was teetering on the brink of collapse. She wasn't at all sure he was right.

TBC


	8. The Perils of Exercise

A/N - thanks for the reviews. I hope you've forgiven me for Jack - it had to be done. I promise it will be worth it in the end.

**Part 8**

One way or another Gibbs had spent the entire day actively avoiding discussions about the Director's personal life. Her involvement with Sutherland was the hot topic of conversation throughout the agency, everywhere he went he got the distinct impression that speculation and gossip were rife. Only his less than pleasant demeanour kept people from asking him for his opinion.

His team had been wise enough to leave the topic alone and concentrated instead on tying up the case they were working on. When he'd visited her lab, Abby had hugged him and said, "I'm not even going to ask." Her discretion had earned her a soft kiss on the cheek – but he could tell she was worried.

If NCIS had expected their Director to lay low in the wake of publicity about her personal life then they didn't know her very well. After being out of sight for a few days she was suddenly visible again; Gibbs had no doubt that she had decided the only possible response was to brazen it out.

And that was the only thing about this situation that he understood.

Clearly the 'big date' of a few nights ago had been with Sutherland; which raised all kinds of interesting questions about what had happened on the night following Ramsay's death and what had almost been repeated when she was apparently on her way to see him. Unfortunately the answers to those questions eluded him and the only other person who might know was intent on telling him to stay away from her.

But there was no way in hell he was going to accede to her wishes now – he should have pushed her more at the time, likely would have if Hollis hadn't arrived. He sighed, Hollis was a complication – or maybe it was Jen who was the complication? That seemed much more likely.

Her strategy of appearing as though the article hadn't bothered her meant that it was difficult to catch her alone. But, mid afternoon he managed to track her down to the gym. He knew that two or three mornings a week she ran with a group of agents, including a very large ex-marine who served as a protection detail. So, either she'd missed a couple of sessions lately, or she needed to work off some tension – he could think of better ways.

He spent a moment leaning against the wall, just watching her on the running machine. It was unusual to have the opportunity to look at her unobserved and the workout gear made it a pleasure to do so. Just as he was thinking about annoucing his presence she hit the stop button and reached for a water bottle. He got a little too caught up in the long, elegant line of her throat – assailed by memories he'd tried his best to set aside.

"Something I can help you with Agent Gibbs?" Caught, he thought ruefully; because he hadn't been looking at her throat any longer.

"I haven't decided," she rolled her eyes and reached for her towel.

"Well, I don't have time for you to make your mind up so," she made to pass him, only stopping when he moved to intercept her.

"Were you going to tell me, about Sutherland?"

"It's none of your business."

"It was my business a week ago," she flushed at the reference, looking away from him. "Does he know about that?"

"Actually he does." He couldn't hide his surprise at the news, he'd been certain that she wouldn't have confessed. " Sleeping together was stupid, but perhaps understandable under the circumstances."

"We didn't sleep together," anger laced his words and he didn't think he needed to remind her that what they had done was have hot and sweaty sex against a wall with very little thought to the consequences.

"And did you tell Hollis about that? Or did you come up with another explanation for the scratches I left? Did you tell her you were injured pursuing a suspect?" She narrowed her eyes and he knew she was about to go for the jugular, "no, you just made sure you stayed out of her bed until they healed. She's probably still wondering why you've stopped sleeping with her." He could tell, even without her smirk, that she'd used the phrase deliberately.

OK – so she knew him too well and she wasn't afraid to turn the tables. But he knew her just as well and there was something in her body language, not a lie exactly – but something, an evasion perhaps.

"And is he going to forgive you? Or do you have some form of arrangement? No strings, you're good at that?" He could tell from the way she reacted that his barb had hit home, that he was right about the nature of her relationship with Sutherland; General or not, she'd still kept him at arms length.

"Where could I have learnt that I wonder?" He didn't reply, raising his eyebrow at her, refusing to concede the point. "It's complicated," he raised an eyebrow and waited her out, he'd assumed it was anything but complicated. "I've been, reluctant, to get too involved – and he's been patient. Things have changed recently – that's why I told him."

"He ask you to marry him Jen?" Her lack of a response was an answer all of its own. "Did you say yes?"

"I haven't said anything – yet." He bit back an instinctive comment about the perils of matrimony concentrating instead on the fact that things weren't the way he'd thought and that sense that he was still missing a part of the puzzle. Which was hardly surprising when it came to someone who was as good at keeping secrets as she was.

"So what's complicated? It can't be me." To prove his point he reached for her arm and pulled her to him, dropping a rapid kiss to her mouth as she gasped in protest. The protest died very quickly and she kissed him back, arching into his hands. He smoothed over the soft curves he'd been admiring minutes before and very nearly let himself forget that he had started this to make a point. He ended the kiss, reluctantly and returned to his earlier comment, "because nothing happened, right?"

He tried valiantly not to notice the way her lips were swollen, the flush to her cheeks, the way she was struggling to catch her breath, knowing that he could easily kiss her again and damn the consequences.

"You going to tell me it's a lousy idea?" He shrugged, he was hardly a fan of marriage and he honestly couldn't see her married to anyone; she was far too used to getting her own way, to not being accountable for what she did. But perhaps a retired General would be content to take whatever she was prepared to give him.

"It's none of my business – remember? If it's what you want."

"It was just a moment – we lost control," he sighed, knowing she was talking about that night. It was the explanation he'd given to himself; over and over, one that conveniently glossed over the need, the searing honesty and the fact that right now she was standing with his arms around her.

He didn't know what, if anything, he could say in reply; but the sound of his cell phone meant that he wasn't going to need to work it out anytime soon. His conversation was brief – if not terse, but the conclusion was just the same. He needed to be somewhere else.

"DiNozzo," he said, as he put the phone away – answering the question she hadn't got around to asking yet. "Abby's got something."

"Then don't keep her waiting." She sounded relieved and this time he did let her go. Leaving without looking back, telling himself it was better that way.

* * *

Tony DiNozzo let out the shaky breath he'd been holding and slipped his phone back into his jacket pocket. His life would have been a lot easier if he'd called Gibbs with news of Abby's discovery, rather than come looking for him to share it in person. 

Of course he hadn't done that and now he was burdened with a secret that he really didn't want to be privy to.

Gibbs hadn't realised he was there, he'd been far too wrapped up in the Director to notice how close Tony had come to walking in on them – or that's what Tony was hoping. If he was wrong, then a slap to the back of his head was going to be the least of his problems. Which was why he'd retreated quietly and made the call instead.

But, witnessing that kiss was not something he was going to be able to forget. How are you supposed to react when you catch your boss in an intimate moment with his boss – especially on the day when her relationship with another man was the main topic of conversation throughout the building?

That wasn't what was bothering him – though he had to be crazy not to be bothered about an affair that involved the head of a Federal agency, a Colonel from Army CID, a four star General and the man he respected most in the world. What was concerning him was their body language, the expression in the Director's eyes as she watched Gibbs leave and the way he'd been holding her – as though he didn't want to let her go. All of those things told him that there were feelings involved - and feelings were messy and complicated.

Tony DiNozzo was many things, but he wasn't stupid. His innate sense of self-preservation told him to stay away from this, because there was no way in hell that it ended without pain and suffering. But, this was Gibbs – so the innate sense of self-preservation was pretty much out of the window.

TBC


	9. Getting Burnt

A/N - thanks for the reviews.

**Part 9**

The sound of voices disturbed Gibbs and he looked up, ready to issue a sharp reprimand, only to discover that it wasn't his team that were doing the talking. Their heads were bent over reports and witness statements – at least he hoped that was what they were focussing on; DiNozzo in particular had been in an odd, skittish mood for most of the afternoon.

He considered going for coffee; because the report he was working on was almost finished and, once completed, he wasn't sure what remained that was likely to hold his attention. He was certain that he didn't want to spend anymore time thinking about what he was and wasn't doing in relation to Jen.

He wasn't going to interfere; he needed to stay clear of whatever was happening between her and Sutherland. She was right, they'd lost control and he felt a spurt of irritation at her for not stopping him, for letting her lack of control coincide with his. Silently he wished Jack Sutherland the best of luck – if she accepted his proposal he was certainly going to need it.

The murmur of voices was louder now and the team had looked up to see what the disturbance was. It was McGee who got to his feet and looked around the bull pen.

"Ramsay's sister," he said, "I think she's come in to collect the rest of his belongings. The Director's with her." Gibbs winced – certain that was going to be difficult for all concerned. Just for a moment he wondered if it was fair that Jen had to deal with this. But Ramsay's team weren't in any state to do it and from what he'd seen at the funeral the young woman had not exactly shared her parents understanding and acceptance of the risks that went alongside the job he had chosen. "Shouldn't we do something?" McGee asked as the voices grew louder.

"The Director can handle it." He was wary of interrupting – certain that she didn't need his help, that running to her aid would solve nothing and ran the risk of stoking all the banked resentment between them.

"Gibbs," he looked up again – Ziva was on her feet and she had gone still as she sometimes did, when she sensed danger without really being able to explain what it was she sensed. Her instincts however were normally impeccable.

Across the silence he heard a loud voice say, " I know you saved him because you used to be his partner!" It was only that which persuaded him to move to intercept the conversation. Whatever decision Jen had made it was because she believed it was the only choice available. She didn't need to have that accusation levied at her and certainly not within hearing of the entire agency.

He moved in the direction of the voices, louder now, one of them at least laced with anger. Rounding the corner he saw the two women standing just in front of the elevator; the Director's attempts to calm the situation apparently having little success. Ramsay's sister was angry and upset and she wasn't being anymore careful with the cup of take out coffee she was holding, than she was with the accusations she was throwing around. She was waving her arms and at any moment he thought she was likely to lose control enough to drop the cup – or throw it.

But perhaps that was the point because even as he took a step towards them her arm arched and she threw the contents of the cup at Jen. For a split second Gibbs thought that all they were going to have to deal with was a bill for getting coffee stains out of her suit, but then her expression and a low cry of pain told him differently.

He'd reached her side before her knees buckled, knocking aside the young woman who was now hysterical and incoherent. The liquid had splashed over the arm she'd thrown up to shield herself – but he could already see the red marks on the exposed flesh of her hand, the way it was eating through her jacket.

"Get Ducky," he yelled over his shoulder as he grabbed her and bundled her into the elevator. He punched in a button for two floors below where there were showers and even as the doors closed pulled off her jacket in an attempt to stop the chemical that was eating through the thin material.

The few seconds it took the elevator to descend were tortuous, he was still supporting her and when the doors finally opened all but dragged her out, along the corridor and finally into the locker room where the showers were.

He pulled her into the stall with him and hit the shower controls; scarcely giving a thought to the fact that they were both clothed. As the water started to pour over them he pulled off her shirt and frantically searched her body for other places the chemical might have splashed. He was still supporting her, holding her under the flow of water.

"Look at me," he said, realising that her eyes were shut, suddenly terrified that the chemical might have got into her eyes. Too late he realised that was exactly what he said to her that night in her study – and he could tell at once that she'd realised it as well.

* * *

Jen opened her eyes as he asked, flashing back to the night in her study when he'd made the same demand of her. He'd touched her then with the same urgency, but a very different intent; now he was running his hands over her flesh not to arouse her, but to check for burns.

"I'm all right."

Jethro was soaked – the sight of the droplets of water on his skin made her mouth go dry. For all sorts of reasons she shouldn't be thinking of leaning towards him and capturing the droplets with her lips. But it wasn't that simple.

At least she wasn't the only one affected; she knew the exact moment he realised that she was mostly naked, that they were both soaked; that no one was here. He tried to hide that awareness, tried to fight it and she hesitated, torn between pushing things or letting him hold onto his control. His hands were on hips and she felt his grip tighten, she looked up at him, it seemed he'd made up his own mind. She gasped.

"Jethro?" Ducky's voice shattered the moment and she wasn't sure if she was relieved or not.

"We're in here," his voice was flat, emotionless and she couldn't look him in the eye to see if his expression echoed the tone. "We'll need some towels."

"There are towels here," Ziva's voice – well, she supposed the incident had been fairly public, she wondered who else was out there. She closed her eyes and leant back against the shower wall. Her hand and arms stung like hell; but the instinctive gesture had saved her face, her eyes. The realisation slammed into her that she'd just been attacked in the bullpen of her own agency, the accusation that she had saved Gibbs because he'd been her partner at least as painful as the burns.

It wasn't true – she hadn't sent the rescuers to Gibbs because he'd been her partner, or because he'd been her lover. She'd made her choice on the basis of the situation and the odds. But, she knew Jethro far better than she knew Ramsay and she couldn't say for sure that she hadn't been influenced by what she knew about his abilities. She'd been trying to get all her agents out, she'd counted on him and his team and they hadn't let her down.

She emerged from the shower wrapped in a towel, Gibbs at her shoulder. Ducky was sitting on the bench, his medical equipment set out and Ziva was leaning against the wall – watching, and she assumed keeping everyone else at bay.

"I'm all right," she said, sitting down to let Ducky examine her arm.

The Doctor tutted softly and said, "we'll let me be the judge of that shall we?" He looked up and Jen saw the surprise in his eyes when he realised that Gibbs was sitting beside her, his hand resting on her waist. She was a little surprised herself – but she wasn't going to say anything. She knew he'd move away if she mentioned it and right now the feel of him so close was reassuring, reminding her of times long ago when knowing that he was beside her had made her believe that anything was possible.

"You did the right thing Jethro, it could have been a lot worse."

"It's bad enough. What was it Ducks, some kind of chemical?"

"Acid I'd say – judging by the nature of the burns."

"Where's the girl?" He asked, looking over towards Ziva.

"With Tony, he has her interrogation,"

"We're not charging her," Jen spoke firmly, imposing every bit of her authority on the discussion. She might be wrapped in a towel with one of her agents sitting just a little too close – but she was still the Director and it was her call. She glanced over her shoulder and knew that he wasn't happy with her decision. "She just lost her brother Jethro,"

"She brought dangerous chemicals into this building, that's intent. It wasn't hot coffee she threw at you." He had a point, but she wasn't ready to give in just yet.

"Ziva, check her out, find out if she has ever done anything like this before – if she hasn't, we're letting her go without charge." She stifled her annoyance when Ziva glanced over towards Gibbs, who nodded his assent to the suggestion. If this was part of a pattern of behaviour then she wouldn't interfere with what he decided was appropriate because she didn't think there was going to be a pattern.

"Director – you should go to hospital," she turned her attention back to Ducky, a little shocked by the suggestion.

"Surely that's not necessary?"

"I'd feel happier if you were checked out by a specialist."

"I don't see,"

"Jen," she stopped talking at the sound of Jethro's voice, at the look in his eyes. "Go to hospital." Ziva and Ducky were both watching them, Ziva's expression alive with curiosity.

"All right," she gave in, with as much grace as she could muster. "Do you think someone could ask Cynthia to bring me the change of clothes from my office? I'm not exactly dressed for a trip to the hospital right now."

"I will do it," Ziva volunteered, Jen nodded and she slipped away. Leaving the two of them alone with Ducky.

"Well," he looked from one of them to the other and obviously decided to beat a retreat as well. "Director, make sure you don't cover your arm over. They'll dress it for you at the hospital – and probably give you some painkillers. I'll have Abby check what the chemical was – and let them know."

"Thank you Ducky."

As the door closed leaving them alone Gibbs said, "Do you want me to call anyone?"

Just for a moment she tried to imagine Gibbs calling Jack to tell him she'd been hurt. But her imagination rebelled at the idea. Her life was, she decided, way too complicated. And she had no one to blame for that but herself. He had finally moved away, reaching for a towel and rubbing it over his wet hair. She felt his absence and scolded herself – because it would be very easy to forget about Hollis and Jack right now; but she couldn't afford to.

"No it's fine. I'll do it." His expression closed down and she pushed away her instinctive reaction, reaching out to him would get them into more trouble. "Thank you," she said softly, lifting her injured arm, "this would have been a lot worse if you hadn't reacted."

"You're welcome, Director." At any other time she might be grateful for his use of her title, an acknowledgement that he understood her authority, perhaps in some way respected it. But right now it felt like a slap in the face, a reminder of all that separated them. She had no doubt that they needed the reminder – she just didn't have to like it.

TBC


	10. Lessons

A/N - thanks for the reviews.

**Part 10**

The painkillers they gave her at the hospital all but knocked her out. On any other day she would have refused them and more than likely gone back to work, but the burns were, well burning and she really hadn't been sleeping well recently.

By the time she reached her car the meds had kicked in and she was feeling decidedly floaty. It was a relief not to have to drive and for the first time in days she closed her eyes and didn't think about Ramsay's death, Gibbs, or Jack and his proposal.

When she reached her house she stumbled out of the car and let Neomi bundle her off to bed without thinking too much about what she should be doing right now, or the messages that had accumulated in her absence. There was likely to be a message from Jack, he'd have heard about her injury by now and she knew she should have called him herself to let him know she was all right. But she hadn't because, well, she hadn't.

There should be a message from Jethro as well, letting her know what had happened with Ramsay's sister. She'd made her position clear and she trusted him to deal with the young woman with some sensitivity, even if he was mad about what she'd done. She definitely didn't want to speak to him right now; didn't have a single idea what she'd say.

When she awoke it was several hours later and dark outside. She toyed briefly with the idea of a shower, although the sterile wrap over her arm would make that complicated. The low throb of pain told her she should probably take a painkiller – but she had no wish to be knocked out again. Besides, she couldn't remember when she'd last eaten and a cup of coffee wouldn't go amiss. Decision made she headed downstairs – her curiosity growing as she neared the kitchen and heard voices; Neomi wasn't on her own.

She hoped it wasn't Gibbs, or Jack – she wasn't feeling up to a confrontation or solicitude.

McGee got to his feet and she blinked, surprised to see him sitting in her kitchen, being fed by her housekeeper. "Director, I er, Cynthia said there were some files that you might need later, Gibbs asked me to bring them over."

"I see," which didn't exactly explain why he was sitting in her kitchen eating a bowl of soup.

"He said I had to stay and so, Neomi kindly offered me supper."

"Of course she did." She rolled her eyes and looked over towards her housekeeper. "Soup?"

"Mushroom, shall I get a bowl for you?"

"That would be nice. With some coffee?" She looked back over at McGee, "where are the files?"

"In the study."

She hadn't been into the study since that night, avoiding the room, though without admitting that was what she'd been doing. Now she hesitated in the doorway, before realising that McGee had followed her and while she hoped he hadn't picked up on it he was looking at her in a way that was just a little too reminiscent of Gibbs. It was just a room she told herself sternly, one with more ghosts than other rooms in the house, but still nothing to be scared of.

"You don't have to stay Agent McGee."

"Gibbs told me I should." She sighed, perfectly aware that McGee wouldn't easily be budged – not if it meant disappointing Jethro.

She leafed through the files Cynthia had sent, grateful for her assistant's thoroughness. Some of the contents were quite urgent – ruefully she thought that the couple of hours sleep she'd grabbed would have to do for a while.

"Are you all right Director Shepard?" McGee's voice was quiet and perhaps that was why she didn't brush off the question the way she would with someone else.

"The burns aren't serious – I was lucky; they hurt at the moment but that will ease. There probably won't even be a scar." But there were other injuries, ones not so easily healed - the reminder of what had happened to her that afternoon was not a pleasant one. Ramsay's sisters voice had been loud, had carried across the bull pen. The accusations had probably been heard by half the agency and she was sure that some people would believe them, or at least wonder if there was any truth to them.

"No one believes what she said," McGee said, exercising just a little of the prescience that made him such a promising agent. She opened her mouth to respond with something meaningless and flippant, but his expression, open and earnest stopped her. Instead she sank into a chair in front of the fire and gestured for him to sit as well.

He was watching her with careful, sympathetic eyes and since she didn't need or want care or sympathy right then she fished out one of the files Cynthia had sent and handed it to him. "Abby isn't going to be able to find anything," she told him, "there's too much damage to reconstruct the site."

His expression faltered and she could tell she wasn't supposed to know that he had asked Abby to try to reconstruct the explosion and the rescue. But it was her Agency and she wouldn't have been doing a very good job if she didn't have a fair idea of what went on and a variety of sources to keep her information up to date. "What were you hoping that she'd find?"

"I just thought she might be able to show that if you'd made a different decision you'd have lost more people."

She sighed, afraid that it would be something like that. Proof, vindication – they were tantalising prospects but she was old enough to realise that they were illusions in this situation. Of all Gibbs' agent it was the man sitting opposite her who would find it hardest to believe that there was no definitive answer. Tony was a born pragmatist, Ziva understood that there were such things as no win situations, even Abby seemed to realise that science could be fallible, had limits, was inseparable from the human condition.

"I know Gibbs teaches you to follow the evidence, that it doesn't lie – and he's right. But sometimes you have to make a decision on the basis of the evidence that is available to you in a split second, or at least a few minutes. If we could have spent hours running scenarios in a lab, testing all the possible actions and reactions I might have chosen a different response. But, that isn't the world we live in, wasn't the situation. I used the information available to me to make a choice that was a risk, but which stood the best chance of maximising the people who were rescued. I'd make the same decision again."

She took a moment to let the words she'd spoken really sink in – and it wasn't just McGee who needed to hear them. The truth was she hadn't told herself that yet, hadn't acknowledged that despite the loss and the difficult situations her choice had brought about she had made the only decision she could – and lived with the consequences.

"I don't know how you did it."

"I had to. You'd do the same. Gibbs isn't just teaching you to investigate crimes you know." He looked a little shocked at that and she wondered how it could have escaped him that one day he could easily find himself in a similar position; she didn't think she'd ever been that innocent.

"It doesn't bother you?"

The decision was wrapped around her even now, it's tendrils attached to her life. Her encounter with Gibbs, bruising and raw, had sent her headlong into Sutherland's arms – as though she could hide from Jethro with the relationship she'd been so carefully managing until now. But Jack wasn't a soft option, his bed and his life weren't places to hide and what he wanted of her she doubted her ability to give.

"I didn't say that."

* * *

McGee reached for his phone the moment he stepped outside, hitting the speed dial and waiting for the connection as he walked towards his car. 

"Gibbs,"

"Boss – Director Shepard suggested I call it a night."

"I can see that McGee," he looked up and found that Gibbs was parked directly opposite the house. He was leaning against the car and it was clear that he wasn't happy with this turn of events.

"She said she didn't need to be supervised," McGee pointed out, hoping that Gibbs understood that not everyone shared his taste for facing down the Director.

"I'm not sure that's up to her," Gibbs' eyes flicked to the house, to the light burning in what was undoubtedly the study. "How is she?"

"She's working," it was too much to ask that he would slide the evasion past the other man, McGee sighed, thinking back on their brief conversation, not sure he'd understood all of the nuances and sub-text, not sure he was meant to. And after all Gibbs could easily go and ask her how she was, that he wasn't doing so seemed at odds with the way he'd responded to her injury that afternoon. "I think she wants some time on her own."

Before Gibbs could reply a dark car with Government issue plates pulled into the driveway and as they both watched a man got out – tall, broad shouldered, moving briskly towards the front door. He was easily recognisable – from the pictures in the Post, from news reports, Senate hearings.

"Well, I don't think she is going to get her wish." Gibbs said, his voice flat.

McGee was slightly concerned that Tony was rubbing off on him, because he was curious about whether Gibbs was going to budge, whether he was planning to spend the night outside her house. He wasn't sure he shared Tony's more outlandish theories about what their relationship might involve, might have involved in the past.

It was clear Gibbs pushed the boundaries with her, that she was perhaps more tolerant of his excesses, though she was also far more knowledgeable about what he was likely to do. At times they displayed a disturbing ability to read and anticipate each other. If you spent much time around them it was impossible not to conclude that there was, something. Though he was at a loss to explain what the something in question was and he certainly wasn't brave enough to ask.

He took a quick breath, thinking about what had happened several hours earlier, "it wasn't true," he said – and then adding, "what Ramsay's sister said today."

"I know."

"And you think she made the right choice?" Gibbs hadn't said a word about the Director's decision, hadn't mentioned it at all – or not in front of his team anyway.

"Go home McGee." It was the response he expected; though not perhaps the one he hoped for. He thought about Shepard's odd mood and decided that she didn't need to hear what Gibbs thought – though she probably deserved to. But he knew it would likely never happen.

He nodded and followed the instruction, getting into his own car to head home. Just before he pulled away he caught sight of Gibbs' face, illuminated by his headlights, he looked tired and McGee didn't like seeing him look that way.

TBC


	11. Curiosity

A/N - thanks for the reviews. And I had to add just one more twist. Sorry.

**Part 11**

"Agent Gibbs!" He turned at the sound of his name and suppressed, barely, the urge to curse. It wasn't everyday you found a Four Star General lounging against his car, waiting to speak to you.

DiNozzo, who was at his shoulder gulped and said, "isn't that…?"

"Go," for once he didn't argue, casting one last look between Sutherland and his boss before making himself scarce. Gibbs gave it all of 30 seconds before the team knew about this encounter and decided that he was glad Jen was at a meeting and not expected back for several hours. Although perhaps that was the point, because surely the General knew that as well.

"I thought we should meet," it wasn't quite a command, but it wasn't a request either and though he considered it, Gibbs knew that walking away wasn't an option. He spared a thought as to how Sutherland had found him, had even known what he looked like and suspected that wasn't down to Jen.

He nodded curtly, but held his ground because there was no way in hell he was getting into the car. If Sutherland wanted to talk to him he was going to have to do so on his terms.

He took a moment to size the man up, certain that it was a mutual exercise. That he was used to wielding power was obvious and though Gibbs would have preferred him to be an idiot, even a cursory glance at his record had shown him to be brave as well as intelligent.

"Shall we walk?" It was a reasonable compromise and the silence stretched until Sutherland broke it, "I was curious about you. I know you and Jen were, involved before and she told me about what happened recently."

"She said."

"Of course she did," a hint of a smile tugged at Sutherland's lips. "And she told you I'd asked her to marry me?"

"She mentioned it."

"She hasn't given me an answer yet, she's being elusive."

"She's good at that."

"She is." This time he did smile and Gibbs almost allowed himself to return it. For a moment he was certain the next question was going to be about his opinion on the proposal or perhaps her likely answer. But the moment passed, "you've let the Ramsay girl go?"

"She'd never done anything like that before and her brother's death pushed her over the edge. She didn't understand his job, the risks involved. The family is dealing with it. It was decided not to charge her."

"You didn't agree?" Gibbs remembered the red, blistered skin, the weight of Jen's body as her legs buckled and then stamped down on the feelings the memory evoked.

"The Director made the decision."

"She wasn't being very communicative last night," Gibbs shrugged, he knew Jen wouldn't talk about the incident, that she'd deal with it in her own way. If Sutherland wanted to marry her he'd have to find out for himself how to get through to her. "After she told me what happened between the two of you that night I thought she'd decided to let me in." Gibbs didn't reply – didn't know what to say.

That night was complicated and he wasn't sure he was ready to think about it. He'd needed her, but he'd used his anger against her as well – and she'd allowed that. It wasn't surprising that things between them had been unravelling ever since. Despite his better judgement he could feel the need for her creeping up on him. He knew he could ignore it, get by without it; but he didn't know that he wanted to. He sometimes felt that their mutual darkness was a siren call, drawing them inexorably closer to each other.

"I'm not used to…" Sutherland faltered and for a moment Gibbs felt sorry for him, he obviously cared about Jen; loved her even. It had to sting his pride to learn she had another lover. In his place he wouldn't be happy about sharing her and he suspected that Sutherland had never seen the relationship as casual, whatever he had agreed to.

He didn't want to be the reason that things had changed, the catalyst for their increased intimacy. But he knew Jen. If she had let down her barriers, let Sutherland see things she'd been keeping hidden, it was because of the damage he'd done that night.

"I don't remember it being this complicated," Sutherland mused. He looked up and seeing Gibbs' expression added, "how many times have you been married?"

"Four."

"I'm not sure I have that sort of stamina – outside of a war zone. They seem easier."

"Yeah,"

"You were a Marine?" Gibbs nodded, feeling as though the conversation was winding down, not prepared for the bombshell that was coming next. Sutherland signed and said, possibly more to himself than to his companion, "I should have married her twenty years ago when I had the chance."

* * *

Two hours later and still he couldn't quite believe it – though given her track record the large piece of information Jen had concealed shouldn't come as a surprise. He couldn't help but remember the look of fond reminiscence on Sutherland's face as he'd explained, " I was posted to NATO HQ in Brussels, Jen was well – visiting." 

The facts had seemed vague and his sceptical expression had drawn forth a further confession – one that seemed to be highly relevant. "I was on her father's staff – and I'm sure if he'd known what we were doing he'd have shot me."

Gibbs thought his assumption was probably correct; Jen would have barely been into her twenties, Sutherland over thirty. The Colonel had probably been trying to keep unsuitable men away from his daughter for years, he'd hardly want her to be involved with one of his own staff officers, not to mention one a decade her senior.

He hadn't been able to bring himself to ask how it had ended – but the answer had been forthcoming anyway. "I knew I'd never hold onto her, she came back to the States and I went on to my next posting. I tried to contact her when Jasper died – but she didn't respond. Then I walked into a meeting 6 months ago and there she was – the same woman, but also completely different."

There hadn't been much left to say after that and Gibbs had come back to HQ too dazed by the information to really focus on anything else. He'd checked and Sutherland had indeed been on Jasper Shepard's staff twenty years ago. It had been a short posting since he'd already been marked out as a rising star.

Briefly he'd considered that Jen could be using Sutherland to find out more about the accusations levelled against her father, her obsession with La Grenouille driving her to get close to the man. But the timing didn't work. He'd been too junior and had moved on long before any question had been raised about the Colonel taking a bribe. It was a convenient assumption and he didn't doubt that under the right circumstances she wouldn't baulk at such a move, but his gut told him that wasn't why she was involved with Sutherland now.

But the link to her past was illuminating, even her silence told him something. For all he knew that relationship twenty years ago had set a pattern across all her subsequent relationships. Which made him look at his own involvement with her in a very different light, ask whether he had been a substitute for Sutherland all along. Everything he thought he knew about the two of them had just been turned upside down.

The team was quiet – he'd think that knowing about his visitor had shut them up, except that there had been no speculative glances, no whispered conversations abruptly halted. It was almost as though they had no idea anything had happened, which would mean DiNozzo hadn't told them. Which was surely impossible.

"DiNozzo, with me." He strode towards the elevator, only turning back when he realised Tony wasn't following him. "Now!"

"Boss, where are we going?" He said as scrambled to catch up.

"Not far," when he flicked the pause switch Tony swallowed and shifted nervously.

"I didn't tell them about Sutherland boss, I swear."

"I know that, I want to know why."

"It's none of our business," from any one else the response might have been at least slightly convincing, but from DiNozzo it was feeble and Gibbs didn't believe him for a moment.

"Try again."

"I saw you." Gibbs knew that his gaze would tease out the rest of the confession. "I don't know what's going on, definitely don't want to know. But I saw you – in the gym, with the Director."

"No," he replied firmly, "you didn't." DiNozzo got the message and nodded. He didn't say another word while Gibbs restarted the elevator. He got out at Abby's floor and hurried off to see her, probably planning to hide out down there for as long as possible.

Gibbs leant back against the elevator wall and closed his eyes for a moment. This day was just getting better. First Sutherland claimed Jen as the one who got away and now it turned out that, of all people, DiNozzo had witnessed that scene in the gym. Only the fact that Tony had kept quiet so far gave him pause; there was no doubt the boy had grown up.

There was a voice in his head asking him why he cared. Jen was involved with Sutherland and he was seeing Hollis, he could just leave well enough alone. There was no denying it would be safer to step back from the brink.

Twenty minutes later he breezed past Cynthia, straight into the Director's office, though she'd only just got back. She was behind her desk, glasses perched on her nose, glancing at something on her computer screen; the emails that had accumulated in her absence he guessed. She looked familiar – but he'd given up trying to work out if he knew her.

"When were you planning to tell me?"

"Hello Jethro, do come in and shut the door." He wasn't in the mood for playing games.

"Jen!"

"Tell you what?"

"You and Sutherland," he ground the words out.

"I did tell you."

"You and Sutherland, twenty years ago, Brussels? You do remember?" She froze at his words but almost at once regained her composure, taking her glasses off and pinching the bridge of her nose – as though a headache was brewing.

"I remember. Who told you?"

"The man himself, paid me a visit this afternoon. We had a long chat – about secrets and you."

"You're in no position to get angry with me for keeping secrets Jethro." He opened his mouth to tell her that this had nothing to do with Kelly and Shannon but didn't get the chance. "We didn't talk about our pasts, remember? We didn't have that kind of relationship. It was over long ago – there was nothing to tell."

"It's not over now," he pointed out, not entirely surprised when she didn't rise to the barb. Telling him instead,

"He wanted to know how much of a threat you are, you should be flattered."

"Well, you can tell him from me, I'm no threat. You don't need the replacement when you can have the real thing." He turned on his heel and was out of the door before she even had a chance to reply. He didn't want to hear something that might confirm his analysis of the situation, something that might force him to accept just how much the idea bothered him.

TBC


	12. The woman in the mirror

A/N - thanks for the reviews. This is the penultimate part!

**Part 12**

She didn't recognise the woman staring back at her from the mirror. She looked composed, confident, the green evening dress she wore skirting the boundary between conservative and sexy with consummate ease. Only the burns on her hand and arm were a discordant element in the picture - she had far too much pride to cover them up.

But the woman she saw in the mirror – calm and in control, gave no sign of the turmoil that bubbled beneath the surface of her mind, which she supposed was a good thing.

Her disagreement with Jack had been spectacular. The knowledge that he'd sought out Gibbs had provoked her temper and she hadn't spared him the force of it over the course of their phone conversation. She understood why he'd been curious – just. But that didn't mean she had to approve of the methods he'd used to satisfy that curiosity.

As angry as she was with him, she was angrier with herself. She should have expected that he'd want to know more about the 'other' man, need to understand how he could possibly have so much power over her. She should have anticipated their meeting and taken action to prevent it.

What Jack hadn't said, but which she'd gathered from reading between the lines, was that he'd also been trying to work out whether he was some kind of a replacement for Jethro – the man she'd given up. It was supremely ironic that as a result of his trying to answer that question, Gibbs was now convinced that he had been a replacement for Jack.

She'd like to think she had this all figured out, but the truth was, she had no idea what she was doing, how this was going to play out. She only knew she couldn't let things stay as they were, couldn't leave the proposal unanswered, couldn't let the situation impact on the agency.

She was close to convincing herself that Jethro didn't need anything from her, not even a place to lose himself from time to time. It was far easier to believe that than to attempt to explain or define their feelings, how they'd responded, what they'd taken from each other – what it meant.

They'd kissed twice since that night, something she definitely hadn't mentioned to Jack. Her favoured explanation of what had happened after Ramsay's death didn't fit those occasions when her control had escaped her, didn't cover how it had felt to hold him, be held by him. When he'd confronted her about her previous relationship with Jack she'd almost thought she'd heard pain and jealousy in his voice. But even if she was right she knew he'd never admit that she'd caused those difficult emotions, never act on them.

Was it ironic or just pathetic that the two men who were her lovers were each convinced that they were a replacement for the other, while she was worried about the ghosts of women who had been gone for a long time? Was it worse, she wondered, to have to find a way out from under Shannon's memory, or compete with the image of the woman she hadn't been for a very long time?

They were both so tangled up in her past and she wasn't sure she believed that either of them were ready to accept who she was right now.

She reached behind her and fastened a heavy bracelet onto her wrist, the stones glittering in the light. Normally she didn't think too much about her jewellery – but tonight it mattered that nothing she wore had been given to her by a man. The diamond at her throat had been inherited from her grandmother and she'd found the bracelet herself one afternoon in an antiques shop in Bruge; she'd spent almost all of a months salary on it.

The reminder that she was independent, had always taken care of herself and always would, was a salient one. She hadn't got here by luck, or because she looked good in a suit. She was a survivor – something that hadn't changed. And if neither Gibbs nor Jack knew how to deal with who she was in the present – she would likely survive that as well.

The soft knock on her office door disturbed her reverie, she called out for her visitor to enter and wasn't surprised when Cynthia put her head around the door. "Director, you look beautiful." Jen cast one last look in the mirror, wishing the woman she saw reflected there the best of luck. Somehow she suspected they'd both need it.

"Thank you,"

"They've just called to say General Sutherland has arrived." For a moment she toyed with the idea of having Cynthia invent an emergency, something that demanded her attention in MTAC, a credible excuse to miss their first public outing. But she squashed the urge to hide away and tried not to think about the exit she was just about to make, one that was going to have to take place under the full glare of whoever was still downstairs.

Reassured somewhat by the confidence she had seen in her reflection she squared her shoulders, lifted her head and stepped forward.

* * *

Gibbs looked up from his desk; it did not take much investigative skill to detect the tense atmosphere in the bullpen. Ducky was standing just outside the elevator talking to General Sutherland. He'd made a beeline for the man, drawn him straight into some story or other. His not particularly subtle attempt to keep him away had drawn the attention of the rest of the team, who were watching their conversation with barely concealed interest. All except for DiNozzo, who was trying to hide the fact that he was watching him. 

He didn't think either DiNozzo or Ducky had anything to worry about, he was pretty certain Sutherland hadn't come here to speak to him. They'd said everything they needed to earlier – and he certainly was in no mood for a second round.

A slight disturbance drew his attention across the room and he realised straight away that he wasn't alone in reacting. The Director of NCIS was slowly descending the staircase to the bullpen, the edges of her evening gown swirling around her feet. He couldn't think, she was dazzling – though the word didn't do her justice and he was pretty sure he wasn't the only one who thought so.

Sutherland cut off his conversation with Ducky in a single word and crossed the floor to meet her as she reached the last step – leaning forward to brush his lips against her cheek. Gibbs might have imagined it, but she seemed to hesitate briefly before accepting the gesture, making him wonder how angry she had been after he'd told her that the General had sought him out.

However angry she might have been, it clearly wasn't enough to cause her to break off the relationship. Rather the reverse since they were all too evidently on their way to a dinner or a ball. An appearance together, in public, seemed to indicate a degree of permanence between them. He was very glad he wasn't close enough to see if her finger had gained an engagement ring in the last couple of hours.

He tried, manfully, not to follow their progress, not to take in the fit of the gown, or notice the way her hair fell in soft curls around her shoulders. But he was only human and he was fighting a losing battle.

He remembered the night, over two years ago now, when he'd watched her leave on Ducky's arm – remembered how her eyes and smile had almost seemed to taunt him into doing something. He hadn't interfered then and he had no intention of doing so now. But this time as she passed by his desk on the arm of another man their gazes met and held. He almost gasped at the steel he saw in her expression. He hoped Sutherland was patient, because the woman on his arm was letting no one past her barriers tonight.

TBC


	13. Shut out the night

A/N - I can't quite believe this is the last part - but it is, definitely. Thanks so much for all your feedback - it's been lovely to get such positive comments. I know that at times people might have been uneasy about Jen and Jethro's actions - especially in relation to their infidelity. All I can really say about that is that I was interested in pushing them to a place where they did things they might not be all that proud of. I have to confess I only really started to love Jen as a character when I realised that she could be equally as dark and obsessive as Gibbs. And though this fic isn't about that really, it is about how the decisions you make can be right and wrong at the same time - or something like that anyway.

Special thanks to Elflordsmistress for all her wise and thoughtful comments.

**Part 13**

The wood was smooth beneath his hands and he followed its path with ease – using more than one sense. His instincts were finely balanced; he understood on any number of levels what he needed to do to shape the boat. The process had a certainty and control that certain other aspects of his life lacked. Boats were, after all, far easier to predict than people.

An opened bottle of beer stood on the side, he'd taken a mouthful or two – resisting the urge to drown his sorrows. Not sure he had any sorrows to drown. Not in the present anyway – there were other, older wounds, but they didn't leave him and he knew they never would.

He didn't understand Jen's relationship with Sutherland, didn't want to understand it. In fact he was working hard to be convinced that it didn't matter to him. Just as he was trying to convince himself that he wasn't susceptible to her pull. But, having opened the door to the long forgotten feelings he was finding it difficult to close the door, to walk away and pretend that what had happened meant nothing. And she wasn't helping. But he knew her and he wouldn't be surprised if she found it far easier than he did to severe their ties – she'd done it before after all.

The sound of footsteps on his stairs gave him reason to pause, his spirits sinking a little further. He didn't want to be disturbed tonight and he especially didn't want to have to face Hollis right now. He'd been avoiding her, knowing that he owed her an explanation and an apology.

When the footsteps stopped he looked up, excuses already formed – because though an apology and an explanation was owed, this wasn't the night to give them. But the words died unspoken as he realised just who was standing watching him from halfway down the stairs; still wearing the green dress he'd been trying not to think about for the last few hours.

"Take a wrong turn on the way to dinner at the White House?" He asked, realising that it probably didn't matter that she knew he'd checked her schedule.

"Didn't even make it past the entrée," there was something about her voice that made him stop what he was doing and take a step towards her, the prickle on the back of his neck telling him something was wrong.

"What happened?" He was close enough to see her face now, though she still hadn't moved and the stairs were not as well lit as other parts of the basement. "Jen?" Her expression made it clear that something had definitely happened, she looked exhausted and more fragile than he'd seen her in a long time.

He'd been wrong earlier; something had evidently got past her defences and the thought of what that something might be made him go cold.

"I gave my number to Fleur," he was confused for a moment until she added, "the woman Ramsay was seeing. I thought she might need…" she shrugged and he fought back the urge to reach out to her.

"She call you…?" he prompted gently – worried by how out of it she seemed.

"She'd drunk a bottle of wine, taken some pills – and then panicked. When I got the call I sent a team over there, with an ambulance. They kicked the door down, took her to hospital." At this news he did take several steps towards her, silently cursing the young woman for involving her – because now he understood that suicide was always going to be a subject that unsettled her.

"She OK?"

"They pumped her stomach." He didn't ask if she'd been at the hospital, didn't need to. "She's going to make it. I stayed with her for a while, then called the rest of Ramsay's team; they're taking turns to sit with her."

"Busy night," he commented.

"I guess so." He could ask her where Sutherland was, but he didn't really care because clearly she'd lost him along the way. He could only hope the same couldn't be said for her security detail.

He watched her for a little while longer and then climbed the stairs towards her. She didn't move, leaning her head back against the wall, watching his approach until he came to a halt. He knew she wasn't here to seek absolution, because he couldn't give her that.

"Jen," she pressed her fingertips to his lips, stopping him from continuing.

"I'm OK. I just don't want to think for a little while." He could hazard a guess as to what she meant by that, what she'd come looking for; which didn't mean he had to give it to her. But he'd lit this flame on the night Ramsay had died when he'd sought his oblivion in her and in the days since neither of them had put it out. It was clear that tonight she was intent on adding fuel to the fire. And that he was going to let her.

Something in his expression must have shifted, because she moved her fingers away and pushed herself away from the wall. She stroked her hand over his cheek, into his hair, "Jethro," she breathed and he could see the question in her eyes.

"This isn't a good idea," he murmured, the warning somewhat undermined by the way his hands were stroking slowly over the satin of her dress. She didn't speak, the press of her lips to his was answer enough.

He made sure the kiss stayed slow and luxurious, though the urgency spiralled through them both. But he was determined that this wasn't going to be like the last time – no anger. She tugged his shirt out from his pants and slipped her hands underneath it to caress his back. He shivered at her touch and lifted his mouth from hers for long enough to gasp, "God, Jen."

She smiled, lips swollen and glistening and brushed a careful kiss to the very corner of his mouth. "We need to take this upstairs,"

"Sure?" he challenged, glancing over his shoulder towards the basement. She dug her nails into his back.

"Jethro – I love this dress. It's not ending up in a crumpled heap on the floor of your basement." He took in the sight of her, tracing his fingertips slowly up from her waist, over satin and then over soft, warm flesh. She did look amazing in the dress, but he saw her point.

In the darkened bedroom he stepped up behind her, fingers tracing lightly over the fastening of her dress. He'd closed the curtains and switched on a small lamp – shutting out the night and the rest of the world.

He drew the moment out, enjoying the way her breath caught when he grazed his teeth against the skin where her neck joined her shoulder. But there was no delaying the inevitable and he pulled the zip down, watching avidly as the dress slipped from her body, falling at her feet in a puddle of fabric.

He moaned as she turned towards him - heels, stockings and expensive lingerie – a hundred fantasies in one. From her smirk she knew exactly what effect she was having on him. In all probability she hadn't put any of it on for him but he was going to be one to take it off – all of it.

He couldn't get enough of her. His clothes had been shed along with the remainder of hers and now they were rolling around on the sheets, tussling for dominance. He was desperate for her and equally desperate to draw this out, torn between wanting to build their pleasure to the extent that she begged and letting her win the struggle. Finally he decided that in this instance there was no dishonour in surrender – sensing that tonight she needed to be in control more than he did.

She moved above and around him – restless hands roaming everywhere, touching, stroking, coaxing. She slowed, keeping him on the edge and he was the one who begged, not caring about that either, his fingers digging into her hips as he tried to urge her on.

But her movements became even more slow and languorous; her head arched back, eyes closed. The sight of her, abandoned, suffused in pleasure and knowing it was because of him was the final straw.

His control snapped and he surged up into a sitting position, pulling her close, mouth brushing her throat, lapping at the perspiration there, thirsty for the taste of her. They pulsed together; bodies perfectly in rhythm before he tumbled them back onto the pillows and deftly rolled her beneath him. His hands wrapped around her wrist, carrying one hand over her head, holding it there.

She met his pace, long legs wrapped around his hips, her other hand clutching his back. His hips moved, pushing hard into her – their rhythm fierce and demanding. He knew she loved the hunger of it – that this was what she needed. He felt her tighten, read her body as he hadn't in years and didn't stop until his growl and her sharp cry echoed around the room.

* * *

This wasn't like last time, she wasn't panicking, didn't want to put distance between them and pretend it hadn't happened. Last time had been harsh and angry, tonight there had been emotion; the fierceness tempered with tenderness, by passion. 

It had been building between them for days; the barriers they'd shattered in the wake of Ramsay's death proving far too difficult to rebuild. As hard as she'd tried to push him away, every time they'd kissed she'd pulled him closer.

She'd come here for this – deliberately sought to lose herself in him, to escape the consequences of a decision that she refused to regret but which had spread out beyond her, like ripples across a lake, bringing pain to the lives it touched.

She knew that he'd understand what she needed and she'd been right; he hadn't tried to rescue her, or make her feel better. He'd simply plunged into the darkness with her; perhaps the only man who could. The uncertainty had been whether she had any right to ask this of him – but lying here, with her body relaxed and sated she had her answer. If he'd intended to stake his claim on her body he'd succeeded – but she had no intention of sharing the insight.

Sleep pulled at her – but she didn't trust herself to fall asleep here. She'd promised him nothing, offered him less, used him, if you cared to put it that interpretation on it. All she knew was that they had asked nothing of each other and here they were anyway; the intimacy speaking for itself. He was still holding her, his fingers running gently over the burns on her wrist and palm. He scarcely seemed aware of the caress - as though he wasn't quite ready to stop touching her yet.

She eased herself away – pulling out of his grasp. His hand reached for her again, closing around her wrist, dragging her gaze back across his body. "Stay," he said quietly. He looked sleepy and more than a little ravished – far too tempting for his own good. As she wavered the silence was broken by the harsh ring of a cell phone – hers.

She reached for it, reading the caller name and slipping out of bed. "Shepard," she said – though she knew it wasn't a professional call.

"Jen, is everything OK?"

"I'm still at the hospital," she said, resisting the urge to look over her shoulder, trying not to think about the fact that she was standing naked in Jethro's bedroom, only minutes after making love to him.

She could hear the concern in Jack's voice as he offered to join her, swallowed the bitter taste of guilt before she replied that she was leaving soon and headed off his offer to come over to her house – telling him that she wanted some time to herself.

She wondered if he believed her. If he knew, or suspected that she was with Gibbs.

She was incredibly conscious of the man behind her, could feel the weight of his gaze on her back. His rule about being specific when you lie seemed to occupy the space between them. She wished Jack a soft goodnight and ended the call. When she turned Jethro was propped up on the pillows, watching her; his expression unreadable in the almost dark of the room.

She looked over to where her dress lay on the floor, knowing that what she ought to do was get dressed and go home. "Stay," a quiet voice repeated.

Staying was complicated and not just because Jack might discover where she'd spent the night and with whom. But this momentary intrusion of the outside world had only convinced her that she wasn't ready to stop hiding yet. She moved back towards the bed and slipped between the sheets, catching a moment of surprise in his eyes – as though he'd expected her to leave – tell him again that this hadn't happened.

She curled into his side, resting her head on his shoulder. Neither of them spoke for long moments until he said, "I'm going to talk to Hollis tomorrow – end things."

She didn't reply, didn't know what to say. She hadn't asked that of him; would never ask that – just as she knew he wouldn't ask her to end her relationship with Sutherland. It was between him and his conscience, none of her business. But she wasn't surprised he felt guilty about this second betrayal, she felt guilty herself.

This wasn't the beginning of a conversation about their relationship – she wasn't sure that either of them was able to explain what this was and why it held such power. She pressed a kiss onto his shoulder and slipped her hand into his. He laced their fingers together, squeezing lightly. And still neither of them spoke.

She remembered the way they'd moved together, the weight of his hands splayed over her, the tug of his lips at her throat. She could feel her body stirring again, thought about his mouth, his hands. God, she didn't want to sleep tonight, didn't want to lie here wrapped in his arms and pretend everything was all right.

"Jen?" Her name was a low rumble and his hands slid up and down her body – as though he'd read her mind. She shifted against him and he pushed her back, mouth already seeking hers.

Though her body cried out to tell that how much she wanted him she bit her lip, stopping herself from speaking. But her body came alive for him, always had and there was little doubt that he knew.

The morning would be complicated, with no guarantees for the future. They both knew that, for a myriad of reasons, they couldn't have this. Yet the slow perfection of their bodies moving together seemed to say otherwise; forcing her to acknowledge that what they were to each other was precious and not to be easily dismissed or squandered. And perhaps given who they were, that was enough.

The End


End file.
